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“Don’t tell me they went after them alone?” Jared’s deep voice boomed through the silence of the room.
“Well, in our defense, we only intended to—” Jordan swallowed her protest at the sideways look from Brock. She realized with a start that he was silently fuming. She’d been lulled by his calm demeanor. She cleared her throat and locked her gaze onto the red flashing dots on the monitors against the wall.
“I’ll contact Tanner and Cruz to pick up Kezlin and Knox to take them to the safehouse in White Hills Preserve. I suggest taking Paxton there, too, Jared. At least if they’re together they won’t run around the city to meet up and expose themselves to the Mafia.”
“What about you and Jordan? Don’t tell me you intend going back there, Brock?” Jared’s voice deepened in concern.
“No, we’ll join up with you in a couple of hours. First, there is a lesson to be taught.”
“Ah, I see. Understood. Just remain vigilant. I don’t need any of you taking unnecessary risks.”
“You know the answer to that.” Brock ended the call and immediately made another to Chaz who assured him they’d be there in ten minutes. His gaze was dark and unfathomable when he looked at Jordan. “You will go upstairs and get dressed for Edge Parlor.”
Her eyebrows lifted in anticipation until the true meaning of his subtle instruction doused her carnal thoughts like ice water.
His simmering rage, combined with the dark promise in his eyes could only mean one thing. The Dom intended to exercise his displeasure in the form of punishment for her reckless behavior— and he chose the one place he was assured she’d submit and accept her fate— in the dungeon of an exclusive BDSM club.
“I… ehm, don’t you think we should just all go together? Wouldn’t it be safer?” It was one thing to go to a club for mutual enjoyment and play but quite a daunting prospect for retribution to be performed publicly.
Brock honed his angry glare. It was a warning sign that any further discussion would not be tolerated.
“You will wear pink stilettos with matching underwear.”
“Pink? I’m not exactly a pink lady, Brock. Now, red I have loads of… very well,” she sighed under his unflinching stare. It was clear that the powerful Dom was now in charge and she had no defense against the pull of the submissive inside her to submit to his demands. “Since you insist, I probably have something representing pink in my closet.”
“No fair,” Knox protested as Jordan ascended the stairs. “Why does she get to go and have some fun and I have to be holed up with that chauvinistic pig, Cruz Parker?”
“Believe me, kitty, fun is the last thing I have in mind for her tonight.”
“A Deviant’s Redoubt of Decadence," Jordan read the defining words etched into an obelisk that occupied the center of the lobby of Edge Parlor at the border of Glen Canyon Park.
“How fitting,” Jordan mused as she looked around the cavernous foyer populated with self-conscious couples lounging on Chesterfield couches, settees and French club chairs upholstered in Vintage Cigar Leather. On the back wall illuminated with accent lights were reproductions of Georgia O’Keeffe’s saturated paintings of enlarged flowers with their erotic petals and phallic stamens.
“How perfectly artful,” Jordan said to no one in particular as she listened to the muted hum of conversation mixed in with a soundtrack of Massive Attack’s Trip Hop that pulsed in hypnotic beats from an array of speakers inlaid flush into the architectural geometry of walls and passageways.
Her eyes sharpened on the numerous women who greeted Brock with obvious admiration as they stared agape at his muscled physique. It was obvious he was a regular and popular visitor at the establishment. She couldn’t blame them. He’d taken her breath away when he stopped at his house to change into a pair of black leathers and supplemental open vest that showed off his bulging chest and ripped stomach. She might be tall, especially with the added height of the six inch platform stilettos, but she felt small next to him. Suddenly, he had seemed bigger, stronger and the thought that he had switched into complete Dom mode excited the hell out of her. It didn’t matter anymore that the sole reason for their visit was to take advantage of the venue’s myriad selection of paraphernalia to inflict a suitable punishment.
“Let’s get you tagged. I already registered you online as my permanent sub and paid your membership fee, but you need to sign the club rules and complete your limit list before they’ll allow us to scene in the dungeon.”
Jordan stuck her heels in and planted her hands on her hips. “You paid my membership fee?”
Brock didn’t bother to hide the amused grin as he regarded her critically. She rocked kink. He knew she would since she was tall and although lithe, had perfectly formed musculature where it mattered. His testosterone had spiked when she’d come downstairs earlier in a black leather mini skirt paired with a leather crop top that pushed her breasts to overflow the tethered bodice. The coral pink lacy bra that hid beneath was an exact match to the heels and lipstick she wore. It had taken all the willpower he could muster not to pounce on her there and then and devour her. The impish smile she’d bestowed upon him proved that she knew exactly what devastating effect the outfit had on him.
“You’re my submissive, Jordan, of course I paid it.”
“Which I will refund.”
“No, you won’t.”
“Let me make one thing abundantly clear, Brock Carter. I pay my own way. I am an independent woman and I don’t need a man to support me financially.”
“I have no intention of becoming your sugar daddy, my pet but there are certain things I won’t budge on. Paying for you as my submissive at my club is one of them.”
“Look here, Mister, I am—”
“Enough. It’s done and it’s not up for debate. You’re wasting time. Let’s get this done so we can address the issue we’re here for.”
Jordan muttered under her breath but followed him to the reception counter where she had to stand by and watch the submissive on duty swoon overherDom.
